Chris picked Vin up at the end of his shift and knew, before his partner even reached the car door, that his omission of a minor detail for the undercover assignment had been a mistake.A major mistake.
He'd known at the time that one aspect of the position would be a problem for the shy man and, as he had assigned both Vin and JD, he wished just that once, that Vin was more like JD...or Buck.
JD was thoroughly enjoying the job, but Buck was sulking because he wasn't given the assignment, the man was just too old -- um -- mature, for this one.
So while JD and Vin played the part of busboys at the local steakhouse, Buck was stuck in the kitchen -- washing dishes or, more correctly, scraping them off as he loaded them into the large commercial dishwasher. But it wasn't the bussing that was at issue, it was the peculiar added duty that this particular steakhouse chain added to the usual jobs for the waitresses and busboys.
Every half-hour or so a snappy country tune would blast through the speakers and every waitress and bus-boy was required to stop whatever they were doing and move into the aisles and spend the next minute and a half line dancing.
This was a big hit with the old men who came in regularly to watch the teenage girls, tipping them generously as they danced -- and the older ladies who did the same for the young men.
And already on his first night, Vin was a big favorite with the ladies, amassing a fairly large wad of bills that the women slid into the waistband and pockets of the snug fitting denim he was required to wear. And a good-sized collection of bruises Chris guessed, after watching a large number of proper older women take the opportunity to pinch Vin's perfect ass. He should have mentioned that particular added duty at the briefing, but he knew that if he did, it would have been nearly impossible to get Vin to take the assignment.
So, the tough as nails Chris Larabee had chickened out.
And now as he picked his lover up from a nearby street-corner, Chris realized that he would pay dearly for that mistake.
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Vin scrutinized his lover's face as he drove up and knew that Chris had deliberately left out that one detail of the undercover assignment.
The one really embarrassing, annoying and ultimately painful detail
Those old ladies had long, hard fingernails and he was sure that there were indentations in his backside from where they had groped him shamelessly all evening.
He'd take a bunch of crazed gunrunners with automatic weapons over these innocent looking grandmothers and leering divorcees any day.
Larabee was gonna pay -- big time.
As the Ram came to a stop, Vin got in, shut the door. and strapped himself in, completely ignoring the driver.
If the air conditioner was set on high, the atmosphere in the cab of the Ram couldn't be any colder as they headed home.
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After about two miles of silence, Chris cracked. "Look, Vin, I'm sorry -- but you and JD are the only ones young enough to pass as busboys."
The apology fell on deaf ears.
Another two miles took their toll.
"What do you want me to say -- it's the job and sometimes it isn't exactly fun, but it's what we do."
That one got a reaction.
First it got a glare that rivaled his own, then in that quiet, deceptively calm voice that Chris had learned to heed, Vin replied, "dancin' in front of a bunch of leering old ladies ain't what I do -- I'm a sharpshooter, not some go-go boy."
Chris caught himself, barely, as the hysterical laugh at the term go-go boy bubbled up and nearly escaped. He waited then, knowing his first response, that line-dancing was a far cry from go-go dancing, would only fan the flames since, as far as Vin was concerned, they were one and the same.
He ran through the half-dozen or so arguments that he'd managed to devise as he waited in the van with Josiah, monitoring the restaurant. And he knew that not one of them was going to make a dent in the anger and humiliation he could feel radiating from his lover.
He finally admitted defeat.
"I'm sorry Vin," Chris repeated, "and there isn't a thing I can say to make up for what I did. I knew you would hate it, and I knew it had to be done so I guess I just figured it would be easier if you didn't know ahead of time."
"Easier for who?"
"Me -- and I thought maybe you too, guess I was wrong."
"Oh yeah, on all counts."
"Kinda figured that."
Vin's smirk confirmed his fears.
Chris would pay -- and the price would be high.
"Truce?" Chris asked. "For now, anyhow."
"We'll see."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time they arrived at the ranch, Vin felt slightly calmer, but had no intention of letting Chris know that.
It was late. Vin's shift didn't end until almost 10:30, so there was nothing to do now but take a shower and head to bed.
When Vin stepped into the bathroom attached to the main bedroom, Chris let out a sigh of relief. He'd been pretty sure that Vin would want to sleep in the guestroom, thankfully, it looked like he'd been wrong. He undressed and picked up the clothes that Vin had strewn across the floor in his rush to the shower, and was just debating whether he should go on in and join him when he heard the water turn off.
Too late.
A few minutes later Vin came out, hair still damp and curling wetly as it brushed against his shoulders. He nodded to the bathroom door as he entered the bedroom.
"All yours."
"Was about ready to join you."
Vin just nodded as he toweled his hair dry, ignoring the clear invitation, and by the time Chris finished his own shower, Vin was in bed.
As he lifted the bedding to get in, he could see that Vin was not just turned away from him, but was also wearing a pair of sweat pants.
Not a good sign.
Determined to ignore the cold-shoulder treatment, Chris climbed in and spooned up behind his lover and nuzzled his neck through the still damp curls.
"Love you," he whispered.
"Love you, too," Vin sighed back, "but ya ain't getting any tonight."
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Vin woke slowly, warm and content, his brain still fuzzy with sleep, although even in that half-awake state, he was aware of something.
Something - or someone was caressing his ass.
Hands were gently massaging the collection of bruises that were the evidence of the rough handling he'd received the evening before, and it did feel pretty good as the deft fingers kneaded the sore muscles.
Then, just as he let out a contented sigh, there was another sensation -- a warm, damp, erotic sensation of Chris licking gently at the same injuries he'd been massaging.
The sigh morphed into a moan as Chris's tongue lapped deeper between his firm buttocks.
"Ya...don't...fight...fair... Larabee..." Vin gasped out, his breath short and shallow as the sensations send a jolt of fire down his spine.
"Never said I did," Chris breathed, sending a warm gust of air over the sensitized area.
Vin wimpered.
"Ya still mad at me?"
"Yeah." The word had no heat behind it.
"Want me to stop?"
"Only if yer done livin'."
Chris was smiling wickedly, and Vin knew why. He always slept in the guest room when he wanted to stay angry, because come morning, he knew just how much a pushover he could be -- and clearly, so did Chris.
The only sounds for the next while were the soft groans and grunts of their gentle morning loving.
Well, maybe not so soft.
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They spent a leisurely morning at the ranch, not having to meet up with the rest of the team at the office later in the afternoon.
The case was initiated with a report from a usually reliable source, that the owner was using his supply trucks to deliver more than mere groceries. If the information was correct, there were a lot of illegal firearms being delivered along with the USDA beef.
It would have been better if they could have gotten someone in as a truck driver, or loading dock worker, but so far, those avenues were locked up tight. They would make do with busboys and a dishwasher while Ezra worked to make a connection from the other side, hoping to set up a buy.
So far they had no luck from either end, but it had only been a few days.
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A week later, the word on the street was that there was a large shipment of weapons on its way.
And no one was happier about a possible end to the operation than Chris.
Except maybe Vin.
With everything that he'd endured during his not always easy life, this assignment would go down as one as one of the top ten worst.
The fact that JD was having a blast didn't help - and Buck's constant complaining about how much he'd love to have his assignment only gave Vin a slight satisfaction.
It just wasn't in Vin's nature to stand up and dance for an audience -- any audience -- and one that was filled with leering diners, both male and female of all ages, was somehow about as bad as it could be.
Not that all of the watchers were unattractive.
The one thing making it minimally bearable was watching Buck's face as he saw how many of the "tips" the ladies tucked into his jeans had phone numbers and blatant invitations scrawled on them.
And they called this a family restaurant?
Finally, almost two weeks into the stake out, they got a break. Word on the street was that there was a huge supply of guns coming into town. And, if Ezra's source was correct, the steakhouse was the arrival point.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Vin arrived for work the next afternoon, he was told to report to the office.
He wondered as he approached the door if he had somehow blown his cover, but was reassured as he entered and the manager rose and smiled.
"Vic, come in, have a seat." Vin nodded and sat. He was using the name Vic Taylor for the assignment.
The older man looked down at a folder on his desk and, after perusing the papers inside, he looked up and smiled again.
"I see that you originally applied for a job on the loading dock."
Vin nodded. "Yes, sir, I did." He agreed then realized that the man was waiting for more. "I need the money and the dock wages are better."
The man, Henry Black smiled again. "Seems to me you're making quite a bit out there -- at least in tips."
Vin blushed, making it easy for the man to believe the words that followed. "Yes, but I'm not really comfortable dancing -- rather be sweating on the back dock."
"Yes, I noticed that too, well, if you're still interested, we have a position open on the dock, at least part-time."
Vin jumped at the chance, not only to get out where he could keep an eye on the trucks, but also to get out of the mandatory dancing inside.
"That would be great, when do you want me to start?"
"Tomorrow, come in at one and report to Doug, he'll show you the ropes."
They talked for a few more minutes, deciding that Vin would stay tonight and bus tables since he was already on the schedule, then if there was enough dock work, they would hire man to take over that job.
Vin grinned as he headed back to the locker room, after tonight he might never have to dance in public again.
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The next day Vin arrived and spent the afternoon unloading crates of potatoes and, later, spent several chilly hours moving boxes of steaks from a refrigerated truck into the large walk-in freezer.
"Tomorrow, I'm bringing a warmer jacket," Vin muttered as he finished his shift and headed out the back door to meet up with Chris. He was free for about three hours before he would return for another night of bussing tables and dancing.
Chris had decided it would be more in character if he kept both jobs since his alias professed to need the money.
Leave it to Larabee to make him humiliate himself for another day or two.
After several days working three or four hours on the dock and then for a full shift inside, the manager pulled him aside as he left for the break between the shifts.
"Taylor."
"Yeah?"
"I think we can cover the tables tonight -- we're getting a large shipment in tomorrow and we'll need you for a long shift, can you be here by about ten am?"
"Sure," Vin paused and smiled, "won't miss dancing a bit."
Henry laughed and slapped Vin on the shoulder. "Gonna disappoint a lot of ladies tonight."
Vin shook his head. "They'll get over it."
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By the time Vin arrived the next morning there was already one truck backed up to the dock, and although the signs on the truck proclaimed that it carried the finest produce, nothing in the heavy crates inside came from any farmer's field.
They worked hard for several hours. Vin knew that this was the shipment, now he just had to get confirmation that the crates actually contained the guns.
What he didn't notice was that the truck driver was the brother of a man he arrested when he worked for the marshal's office.
Unfortunately, the driver recognized him.
As they finished unloading the truck, Vin was blindsided by the driver and another man as he re-entered the back of the building.
He sensed movement just before the piece of two-by-four caught him on the side of the head and the world went black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kumar Asada just wanted to live the American dream. He’d worked three jobs at a time for nearly sixteen years, living frugally and saving every cent so he could buy a restaurant franchise. And now, that dream had become a nightmare.
His beloved restaurant had been nearly bankrupt, with less than a month left before he would have been forced to close the doors for good.
He would have lost his entire investment -- with nothing to show for sixteen years of hard work.
Then, suddenly he had found a way out.
Any doubts he had were smothered by his need to keep his restaurant, it seemed like the only answer when one of his drivers suggested they use the restaurant as a way to smuggle and sell illegal weapons.
And for a while, things went well. The bills were paid and he was actually starting to put money in the bank.
Then, today, it had all fallen apart.
His driver, Jake Nielsen, the man who set up the "extra business" for him recognized one of the new men working on the dock.
He was with the police -- one of the federal groups, maybe the marshals or the ATF.
Then, without even checking with Kumar, he and his men knocked him out and now he was tied up in the back room.
If that wasn't bad enough... now Jake was talking about killing the agent before they fled the country.
Kumar hadn't ever imagined this possibility, he couldn't just leave his business, almost every penny he had was tied up in the restaurant. How could he just leave?
And he certainly didn't want to have any part in killing a policeman. No, that would not do at all.
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Chris and the rest of the team were watching the restaurant from a van parked near by, waiting to move in once Vin was able to confirm that there really were weapons in the crates. ‘
Vin's shift began at ten and now it was past two. The truck had been unloaded, sat on the dock for another hour, it finally left the dock twenty minutes later.
Something was wrong
The dock was empty and there was no sign of Vin or, for that matter, anyone else.
"Maybe they're inside taking a lunch break?" JD offered into the tense silence of the surveillance van.
"No." Chris repeated aloud the thought that had been running through his mind for the past quarter hour. "Something's wrong."
"I agree," Josiah added, nodding, wanting to move in but waiting for Chris to make the call.
He didn't have to wait long.
On Chris's signal comma the team moved in.
They found the rest of the building as empty as the loading dock.
"Where are they?" JD asked, looking at the parking lot that was still full of cars. "How could they all be gone, the cars are all here and no one left -- we were watching the whole time."
Chris looked around at his men, they all knew what had happened.
"The truck."
"I agree," Ezra added, "they must have made Vin or spotted one of our vehicles."
"JD, call the DPD, see if they can get a chopper up, they can't have gotten very far."
JD headed back to the van while the rest of the men checked and rechecked the area. Not only were the men gone, but they had apparently managed to get the crates reloaded onto the truck before they left, there was nothing left but an empty restaurant and freezers full of steak.
"Everyone out..." Buck yelled as he came running out from one of the back offices -- "NOW!"
They ran, and moments later, the building exploded into a gigantic fireball.
Buck's warning had given them enough time to get clear, so aside from a few bruises from flying debris, and a smoldering spark in Ezra's hair, they escaped unscathed, but what was left of the building was a bonfire. Josiah noticed the smell of burning hair at the same time that Ezra felt the heat on his scalp. He yelped as the big man used his jacket to smother the flames.
"My hair."
The singed ends cracked off as the undercover agent ran his hands through his formerly immaculate locks.
Then the caught the whiff of another odor.
The smell of burning meat filled the air.
"One hell of a way to throw a barbeque," Buck muttered.
He quickly found that his humor was not fully appreciated as Chris grabbed his shirt and slammed a fist into his face.
"Vin might have been in there." Chris knew that they had looked and not found him, but there was still a possibility that he had been left somewhere inside.
Tied up and unable to get out.
Burned to death like his wife and son.
His face went pale as he stared at the inferno.
"He wasn't in there, Chris," Josiah soothed.
"We don't know that for sure -- and if he isn't -- wasn't -- then where is he?"
"I don't know, Chris --- but we'll find him."
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As Vin awoke he became aware of several things. For one, the floor was vibrating.
Vibrating?
Then he noticed that there was noise.
And his head felt like it was going to implode.
And moments later, realized that his stomach was about to explode.
He turned his head slightly just as his stomach expelled it's its contents onto the vibrating floor that he now recognized as the bed of a truck.
That's why it was vibrating, the truck was moving.
His stomach contracted again, sending a wash of bile to join the smelly, lumpy puddle that was entirely too close for comfort.
He groaned and tried to push up and away and found that his hands were tied.
And his head was really starting to pound.
Shit.
He must have really fucked up this time.
He managed to wiggle a few inches away from the mess and fell back into a semi-conscious daze.
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It took the DPD almost three hours to spot the truck. It was parked behind a warehouse on the other side of town.
By the time team seven arrived, the police had the entire area cordoned off.
"Have you seen anyone?"
"No, we don't know if anyone is inside or not, but figured we'd better wait since you said they might have a hostage."
"One of our undercover team was with them this morning and is missing," Josiah filled in the site commander. "Thanks for your help, but we will be taking over from here."
"Sure, whatever we can do to back you up."
"Thanks."
They used an amplified unit to call out and, after getting no response, donned their vests and other protective garments and moved in.
The warehouse was as empty as the restaurant.
JD returned to the van and checked the ownership of the building and found it was being rented to one of the men on Asada's payroll.
Thinking that they must have had some way to leave the area, JD checked in the state database to find out the makes, models and license plates of all vehicles owned by Asada, his manager and the rest of his daytime employees. After eliminating the ones that were left in the parking lot at the burned out restaurant, they had two possible leads.
The truck parked by the warehouse was also empty, except for a puddle of vomit and some blood smeared on the floor nearby.
"Vin." Chris whispered hopefully, while hating that he was probably injured, he had to have been alive to bleed.
The police sent out an alert with the descriptions of both vehicles and the men to all the law enforcement agencies in the area.
Aware that Asada might well have had other vehicles available, they could only hope that someone would spot one of them. Since, for now, it was their only lead.
After a quick but thorough check to determine that the warehouse was empty, Josiah advised the police to pull all personnel from the building until a bomb squad could get in and make sure there were no explosive devices left behind.
They had gotten lucky at the restaurant. It was not a time to take chances.
"I should have made him wear a wire," Chris mused aloud. He knew in his head that had it made sense at the time to forgo the added risk since the team had been waiting outside the restaurant. But now his heart ached with regret at the decision.
No one had anticipated the possibility that Asada and his men could escape from right under their noses.
Or that they might take Vin with them.
"None of us thought he'd need one, Chris." Buck sighed, he knew that Chris would blame himself if anything happened to Vin -- that he was already blaming himself.
"We were wrong, Buck. We got careless and now Vin is paying for it."
Buck considered arguing that they didn't even know if Vin's cover was blown, that Asada may have gotten a tip from someone and just gathered the entire crew and ran. Vin could be with them, just laying low until he could get a message out to them.
But he rubbed his already sore jaw and decided to keep his mouth shut. Apparently Chris's mind was running along similar lines.
"They might run, but why would they take a new guy along? If they didn't suspect him, they would have dropped him off by now."
Neither man noticed that Josiah's approach but they weren't surprised when they heard his deep, calm voice. "We won't know anything for sure until we find them, lets let's just do what we do best and track them down. Vin knows how to play along if they don't suspect him, and if they do, the best thing we can do is find them and get Vin out," Josiah finally cut in, and to his surprise, Chris and Buck both nodded their assent.
They headed back to the office to set up the search.
It was now almost eight pm.
It was going to be a long night.
And for Vin, it would seem like forever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Vin woke again he could hear voices.
Several voices, and it sounded like they were arguing.
One he easily recognized as the owner of the restaurant Kumar Asada, his distinct accent thicker than usual as he whined and complained about the day's events. Apparently, according to a news report, his restaurant had blown up and burned to the ground shortly after they left, and the little Indian man was bemoaning the loss of his life's work.
"Did they really say that my restaurant blew up?" Kumar screeched while the news report droned on.
"Yes, it blew up," Jake snapped back. "I left more than enough C-4 to flatten the place."
"Why? Why would you blow up my restaurant?" The little man was crying as his dream of the good life evaporated completely.
"What do you care? It's not like you could go back and open for dinner with the feds after you." Jake rubbed his face with his hands. How had he ever thought this timid little man would be of use. He looked at the sniffling man and sighed. "Maybe you can file an insurance claim -- probably get more that way than trying to run a stupid steakhouse."
"You think so"?" Asada asked, not hearing the sarcasm in the other man's voice.
"No, you idiot, you can't blow up your restaurant and then collect insurance." Doug finally snapped, he'd been driving since they left the warehouse and was getting tired of all the noise. "And you, Jake, just shut up. You're only making him worse."
Vin vaguely remembered being pulled from the "produce truck", then nothing until he woke up in this obviously smaller vehicle.
There had been more voices that time, probably the rest of the men from the dock. He wondered where they were now.
Now it sounded like it was just two or three men.
His head was pounding and he felt dizzy, even with the blindfold someone had tied over his eyes. The rest of his body wasn't feeling all that good either. It felt like someone had run over him with the truck before loading him in it -- he ached everywhere.
His stomach was still queasy but was finally empty, which was probably good since they had tied a gag over his mouth.
It would not be a good idea to vomit right now.
As he listened to the men bickering, the subject changed several times. First they argued about which direction to go, then where to stop for food, and now they were fighting about what to do with him.
Asada wanted to just drop him off somewhere, let the police have him back so they wouldn't chase them any more.
Sounds like a good plan to me Vin agreed silently.
Jake agreed, at least with the dropping off, but he thought they should shoot him first so he couldn't tell anyone what he knew.
No, listen to your friend there, Jake, just let me go
And the third man, Doug, thought they should keep him, just in case they needed a hostage.
Aw, Hell, Doug, you don't need a hostage, just let me go
Vin lay back, exhausted, the effort of lifting his head up off the floor so he could hear what was being said over the road noise wearing down what little reserves he had left.
A pleasant drive in the country it wasn't.
The next time Vin surfaced they were slowing, then the vehicle stopped.
He heard someone get out of the van, then after a bit they returned. Once inside, the vehicle started again, but stopped a few moments later.
The men got out and he was left in silence.
He waited for a while and when no one came back, tried to sit up and see if he could get away.
When that didn't work, he lay back and pondered his situation.
He was tied hand and foot, gagged and blindfolded in the back of some kind of small vehicle.
The men who had imprisoned him had gotten out and may or may not be returning.
He thought back to the arguments he'd listened in on and realized that they probably stopped for the night.
Leaving him alone.
He decided that he must be in a windowless van -- or else they had parked somewhere that no one would notice that there was someone tied up inside.
If he got lucky, he would have several hours to get free.
He shivered as the temperature dropped. He was only wearing a long-sleeved tee under a flannel shirt, and remembering the recent overnight temperatures, Vin figured that it was going to be a long, cold night.
He sighed and started to work on the ropes that held his wrists.
It was hard to tell how much later, but it felt like several hours had passed, when someone opened the front of the car, got in, started the motor and drove out.
Vin was pretty sure it was only one person yet wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. After the arguments earlier, it would depend on who was behind the wheel.
He hoped, desperately, that it wasn't Jake.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was late -- or early -- depending on one's point of view.
There were only a few cars on the road -- even the highway.
Kumar Asada had tried to sleep, but the day's events made that impossible.
There was nothing he could do about his situation. His dream was crushed. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring, and that made him very sad.
There was, however, one thing that he could do, and after waiting until he was sure that the other two men were asleep, he got up, dressed, and slipped out of the room.
He might spend the rest of his life in jail, but he was not a killer and wanted nothing to do with the death of the young man who was tied up in the back of the van.
He remembered a place where he could take him and be back before the other men knew that he was gone.
He almost smiled as he pulled out onto the highway. It felt good to make a decision of his own and to do what he knew was the right thing.
He arrived at his destination and called back to the man, "I'm sorry about all this." Then he got out of the vehicle.
Before the sun began to rise he was back at the motel.
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Vin breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that the driver was the small Indian man, Asada.
He knew from the arguments in the car earlier, that Asada didn't want him dead, and hoped that this late-night trip was to set him free.
His hopes were justified -- at least in part.
The drive had been relatively short and moments after the vehicle stopped, the driver got out and then the door next to where Vin lay opened.
He was pulled him from the van and dragged a short distance while the little man muttered about how sorry he was and that he hoped Vin would forgive him.
Now Vin began to worry -- if the man was planning to help him, why was he apologizing so much?
Maybe the other two men had convinced the malleable man to do the dirty work.
Then he was dropped to the ground and moments later, pushed over the edge of a slope.
Great -- now I get shoved over a cliff...
Before he could finish the thought, Vin came to an abrupt stop, his back impacting with a hard, irregular surface.
Above him, he heard the door to the vehicle slam shut, the motor start, and then the crunch of tires over gravel as it pulled away.
If he'd been uncomfortable and cold before, it was nothing compared to what he felt now.
But at least he was alive to feel like shit.
It was quiet and cold -- very cold.
He couldn't see because of the blindfold, but figured that he was somewhere outside in a ditch or ravine.
He wondered if he was somewhere that his friends could find him or if he was out in some remote wilderness where the coyotes would get to him first.
He shivered and realized that where-ever he was, he needed to get himself up and get some help. It would be pretty pathetic to die of exposure now that he was finally free.
Well, relatively free -- he was still tied up.
He rubbed his blindfold against a nearby rock and managed to get it partially off and, as he looked around, he could see in the semi-darkness that he was in a relatively shallow ditch or culvert. It was rocky and he knew that the fall had left more bruises on his already sore body, but at least it was dry -- if the ditch had been full of water he probably would have drowned with his hands and feet tied.
What was that saying about small favors?
He began to work at the ropes that bound his hands, noticing a while later that the sky was beginning to lighten.
Maybe once the sun came up, he would get a bit warmer. Warmer sounded really good about now. He continued to pull at the ropes, feeling the slickness of blood as his wrists rubbed against the coarse fibers. He knew that they would hurt later, once he got some feeling back, but it was a price he was more than willing to pay if he could just get loose and out of this cold, rocky ditch.
Unfortunately, before he could complete his task, his concussion and other injuries caught up with him and he lost his fight to stay conscious.
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Back in Denver, the team was busily working to find their friend, each man thinking about on his own relationship with Vin as they checked out every possible lead. Co-worker, friend, and in Chris's case, lover...and so much more.
One of Ezra's contacts finally came up with a lead on one of the men from the restaurant -- the manager, Henry, had been seen in Denver earlier in the evening and, before long, the team had tracked him down.
They spent most of the night interrogating the man and found that while he managed the restaurant, he was not involved with the gun running part of the operation.
It had been a matter of playing along or looking for a new job, and for the middle aged man, that meant turning a blind eye to the various things happening on the loading dock.
Despite their offer of leniency it took them most of the night to get any useful information from him.
It was close to dawn when he was finally persuaded to tell them the make, model and license plate of the vehicle that Asada and the other men had left the warehouse in and, as a bonus, the general direction he thought they were heading.
By seven am, there was a new all points bulletin sent out to every law enforcement agency in the state.
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It was only a little while later when they got the report that the van had been spotted.
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Kumar slipped back into the room without waking either Jake or Doug and was back into the small, lumpy bed moments later.
It was several hours later when the three men woke and prepared to leave.
Then Jake looked out and saw that the van was not parked in the same spot as the night before. He demanded to know who had moved it -- and why.
Realizing that the other men would find out what he had done soon enough anyhow, Asada decided to stand up and admit what he'd done.
He'd barely finished his story, with assurances that he would never tell them where he had left the young agent, when Jake pulled his gun out and shot him in the head.
"You idiot!" Doug protested. "Even in a dump like this someone will call the cops."
Jake turned to his co-worker, pointing the still smoking gun at the angry man. "You want to help me get him out of here -- or do you want to join him?
It took them less than five minutes to roll the small man up in one of the bedspreads and get him into the van, and only a little longer to get back onto the freeway.
There were only two police cars in the small town where the motel was located, and they both responded to the report of "shots fired".
They arrived just in time to see a van pull out of the lot and speed down the street toward the freeway.
Noting the speed of the vehicle, the men in the first of the patrol cars decided to follow, while the other officers stopped to interview the manager of the motel and get as much information as possible.
Upon entering the room with the anxious owner hovering at their elbows, the policemen found the large, wet pool of blood on the carpet.
They radioed the information to the other officers and notified the state police as they realized that the van was a perfect match to the one described in the APB that had arrived at the station only a few minutes before the call from the motel had come in.
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"They spotted the van, "Buck called out, even as he listened to the rest of the information that the state police officer was relaying. Then he realized what the man was saying and sank back down into his chair.
Someone had been shot just before the van had raced out onto the highway -- taking the injured -- or dead person along.
All that they knew at the moment was that there had been shots fired and there was a large amount of blood on the floor of a motel room.
And that there were now two police cars in pursuit of the vehicle, one a small town cruiser and the other a state patrol unit.
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Meanwhile Vin woke again and groaned as he tried to move his abused body.
The hours in the cold ditch left him feeling weaker, his muscles stiff and cramped.
The one good thing he discovered as he pulled on the ropes that bound his wrists, was that he had managed to loosen the ropes enough that he could slide his bloodied hands free.
He immediately worked the foul gag out of his mouth then twisted around until he could reach the ropes that held his ankles, glad that he was still limber enough to get them untied.
His head seemed to hurt even more than before but he forced himself to sit up and, levering himself against the side of the ditch, Was finally able to stand.
The wave of dizziness that hit him sent him back to his knees.
"Aw, Hell."
He let out another groan and a heavy sigh as he realized that if he was going to get to the top, it would be on his hands and knees.
It took several tries, and a number of additions to his collection of bruises, but he eventually made it to the top.
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The chase ended badly after nearly two hours. At the end, there were four state units and several local cruisers from nearby towns that joined in as the chase passed through their territory -- everyone wanted in on the arrest.
Team seven had been in the air within minutes of getting the report of the vehicle being sighted. They followed the progress of the chase via radio and caught up just as the van plunged off the side of the road and into a deep ravine. It rolled end over end several times before landing upside-down and sliding nearly a quarter mile further before slamming to a stop against a large boulder at the bottom.
"Nooooo!" Chris screamed as he watched from the helicopter. "Get this thing on the ground -- now."
The pilot obeyed, landing in the area cleared by the police on the highway directly above the ravine where the van had exited the road.
Buck and Josiah both grabbed at him as Chris jumped out of the helicopter and headed for the edge of the road.
"Let the police get them out, Chris, " Buck reasoned.
"No, Buck, I have to get to him."
Josiah stepped in front of him, restraining his momentum. "You know that he may have already..."
Chris's fist ended Josiah's sentence.
He simply could not accept that Vin was already dead before the van flew off the road and down the ravine.
Or that the crash itself had killed him.
Vin simply could not be dead.
He could not face losing Vin.
Not now.
Not when he had finally found that he could feel again...
That he could love again.
No, Vin just couldn't be dead.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Josiah, Buck and the rest of the team spent the next hour running interference between Chris and the rescue units working to get the mangled van open and remove the men that were inside.
The vehicle's frame was so badly bent, heavy power-tools were needed to spring open the front door -- the back so badly crushed that they would be have to cut through the metal itself.
Not that there was any rush to get inside.
Clearly, both men sprawled on the front seat were dead. And despite the twisted wreck that was the van's back, what was tucked there could still be seen.
A rolled up bundle.
Soaked in blood.
"No wonder they wouldn't stop," one of the firemen observed.
"Yeah, driving around with a body..." another finished quickly his face coloring as he noticed the group of dangerous looking men glaring at them.
Once the two bodies in the front were removed, the crew from the fire department broke out the tools to get the back of the van open.
Despite the urging of his team, Chris refused to leave until the back was opened and the bloody bundle removed.
Josiah and Buck stayed with him, feeling useless but needing to be close.
Ezra moved to the road above.
His pacing didn't really make him feel better, but he couldn't seem to stop.
Nathan had stayed with the EMT's, watching as the bodies were removed and, despite the amount of blood on the bundle in the back, waited with them while the firemen worked, needing to be there when they pulled it from the vehicle.
JD moved up to the side of the road and sat on a guardrail, unaware of the tears that ran down his cheeks.
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Vin pulled himself over the edge of the culvert and collapsed. He could barely breath, his chest aching with every breath -- he felt like he had some broken, or at least cracked, ribs.
His head was pounding, but now that he was out of the ditch he could see what looked like a highway rest area only about forty or so yards away.
And there, next to a small building, a pay phone.
Chris
He crawled a few yards to a small fence and again levered himself to his feet. This time he took it slowly and managed to stay mostly vertical as he staggered towards the building and the phone.
He needed Chris.
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The shrieking of the saw seemed to match the screams Chris refused to voice as he waited for them to finish cutting through the side of the van.
Then they were pulling the wrapped bundle out of the back.
Buck was standing between Chris and the wreck while Nathan and the EMT's unrolled the blood-encrusted fabric from the limp form inside. Josiah was moving closer to where the men were uncovering the grisly contents of the bedspread.
Chris's head was killing him.
The saw was too loud--too shrill; his head was filled with its ringing.
No, that wasn't right.
The saw was off...so what was that sound?
His phone.
He ignored it, there was no one he would -- or could – speak to right now.
It was as if time had stopped. He knew what was going on at the bottom of the ravine -- knew that they were unwrapping the bloody bundle they had pulled from the crushed vehicle -- knew that his heart felt like it, too, was as crushed as the mangled van.
And he could do nothing but stand there and watch.
Ezra, who had just moved back down the hill, heard the ringing and realized that Chris wasn't going to answer his phone, and as it continued to ring he reached over and took it from Chris's belt. Normally, this would earn, at the very least, a glare. Today, in this moment, Ezra wasn't sure that Chris even noticed.
He turned away as he answered, not wanting to intrude.
Shortly thereafter, his gold tooth glinting in the morning light, he turned back and offered the phone to Chris.
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Vin finally reached the phone and dialed the number he knew better than any other.
The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Then finally, it was answered -- but not by the voice he expected -- needed -- to hear.
"Chris?"
He knew that the voice that answered was Ezra, but he was unable to respond to the undercover agent.
Unable to change his plea.
"Chris."
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“I think you will want to take this call, Mr. Larabee."
Chris glared at the southerner, but took the phone and raised it to his ear.
"Chris." The voice was faint, but he knew it immediately.
"Vin?"
When he got no reply so he repeated himself, louder. "VIN."
He was listening so intently to the phone that he hadn't noticed that the men below had finished, or that Nathan, Buck, and Josiah, were turning towards him with relieved looks on their faces.
"It's not Vin," Nathan called out in relief.
Then they all heard Chris as he repeated his plea.
"Vin," he breathed into the phone, his legs giving out as he heard the familiar voice, and he slumped against the rocky incline, face completely drained of color.
"It's not Vin, " Buck called loudly as he turned back to Chris. He heard Chris's plea and thought Chris was referring to the now uncovered body. Both Josiah and Nathan joined him. Concern for his distress showed on all their faces.
"It's Vin!" He called out, holding the phone so tightly against his ear that it was invisible to the other men.
"No, Chris...it isn't him, " Nathan repeated, referring to the body below.
"Vin! Where are you? Tell me where you are?" Chris was unaware that Buck, Nathan and Josiah were speaking to him as he pleaded for Vin to respond.
As soon as Ezra handed the phone back to Chris, he'd pulled out his Own, and was arranging a trace to locate Vin.
He finished his call and noticed what was happening.
He cleared his throat and interrupted the three men who were beginning to think that their boss -- their friend -- had finally gone 'round the bend.
"I am quite pleased to inform you, Misters Jackson, Wilmington and Sanchez, "that it is indeed, Mr. Tanner."
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Vin waited for what seemed like forever, then he heard the voice he'd needed to hear.
It was all he could do to once more breathe out the name of his lover.
"Chris."
The response to his hoarse utterance was reassuring, and a bit frightening.
Chris sounded as breathless as he was.
Then Chris seemed to regain his voice.
Vin's voice seemed to have deserted him, he took a breath and tried to answer, but his abused body had other plans.
Despite the support of the wall at his back, his legs were shaking in exhaustion and before he could respond to his lover, he slid to the ground and the phone dropped from his nerveless fingers as darkness claimed him again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Myrna Lambert didn't like to use the rest areas on the highway, but she'd had a second cup of coffee and there was no way she would or could make it back to Loveland without stopping.
She'd just finished and stepped out of the small building when she saw the man come staggering across the lawn towards her. She let out an involuntary gasp as she saw the blood that matted the long hair and how almost half of his face was bruised to a deep shade of purple. His clothes were filthy and torn.
Not necessarily afraid of the man himself, she hurried back towards her car -- it was possible that the people who had beaten him were still around. As she reached the parking area, she felt guilty about just leaving an injured man alone. She looked around and noticed that a big semi-truck had just pulled in. Then a kind looking man climbed out of the cab. Maybe he could help
She turned away from her car and waved as she called out to the middle-aged trucker.
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Chris heard Vin gasp and then a thump echoed into the phone.
Then nothing -- dead air.
He called out again and again, yet despite the fact that the line was still engaged, he got only silence -- until, after what seemed like forever, another voice came on the line. "Um, hello... is somebody there?"
A short conversation established who everyone was, that Vin had passed out by the phone and most importantly -- where Vin was. They checked with the helicopter pilot and confirmed they were less than an hour away -- as the crow -- or a helicopter -- flies.
An ambulance was called and within minutes, the team was on its way to reunite with their missing member.
By the time they arrived, the EMT's were unloading their equipment.
Nathan stayed close, working with the medics, giving them background on their patient while he relayed what they found to the rest of the team.
Chris stayed as close as possible, but with the two medics and Nathan working to assess Vin's condition, he was farther than he wanted to be.
As the EMT's began to load Vin onto the gurney, Nathan gave the rest of the men a rundown on what they found.
"Well, he has a nasty gash on the side of his head, and from the bruising, it was most likely from being hit with by a heavy object -- a baseball bat or a board of some kind." He hesitated a moment, meeting Chris's eyes before continuing. "They're pretty sure he has a skull fracture, and bad concussion – you saw how much he was bruised."
"Damn," Chris spat, wishing the men from the van were alive – he really wanted to cause them pain.
Nathan continued his assessment as they watched the medics working on Vin. "It's hard to tell with head injuries, but the fact that he got to a phone and called you is a good sign -- but he's gonna have a hell of a headache for a few days."
The conversation was cut short as the medics finished securing Vin and wheeled him to the ambulance.
After checking to make sure that the team knew where to meet up with them, Chris climbed into the back with Vin.
The medic started to protest, but meeting Chris's fierce glare in the close confines of the emergency vehicle, thought better of it and motioned him to the seat on the other side of Vin.
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Vin came awake gradually, aware first that he was no longer cold -- that he was, in fact, actually quite warm.
The second thing that was apparent was that he was no longer lying on a hard, rocky surface.
He listened for a moment to confirm his guess that he was in a hospital.
The last thing he remembered was using a phone to call -- Chris.
That brought him fully awake. He opened his eyes looking for the one person that he hoped would be there -- but shut them immediately when the light sent a jolt of pain into his head.
He hissed out a muted curse as he remembered how much he'd been hurting as he reached the pay phone -- he must have passed out.
"Aw, hell."
There was a soft rustling then his hand was taken, the touch gentle and familiar.
"Chris."
He inhaled deeply in relief, he'd been sure, in those long hours tied up in the van, that he'd never see his lover again.
"Hey, cowboy -- thought you'd never wake up."
Vin smiled even as he picked up on, maybe the worry in the soft voice.
"Was awful tired."
"Guess you were, after getting bashed in the head, dragged half way across the state, and dumped in a ditch."
Vin smiled again, his crooked half-smile, and opened his eyes just enough to meet Chris's concerned ones.
"Yeah, " he breathed out, "It was one of them days..."
Chris had been worried. He could hear it in his voice and see it even more clearly in his tired, green eyes.
"Nah -- think it was all that dancin'."
Chris leaned down and whispered softly, "Thought I'd lost you." Just before he placed a gentle kiss on the undamaged side of Vin's forehead.
"'M sorry...was pretty sure you'd lost me too... knew you'd be worried."
"It's a good thing you've got a hard head..."
Vin smiled again as he drifted back to sleep.
He was back where he belonged.
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It was just over a week when the doctors decided that he could go home.
His head still hurt.
And, according to the doctors, he would have headaches for a while -- and blurred vision -- and dizzy spells.
But they were also sure that with rest and time, he would fully recover.
And Chris was going to be sure that he rested.
And Nathan was going to be sure that Chris enforced that order.
And if Chris and Nathan couldn't keep him from over-doing it, there were four more mother-hens waiting on the sidelines.
And if he gave them any trouble, they assured Vin that they would be forced to call in the big guns.
Well, maybe not so big, but Nettie Wells didn't need to be big to keep Vin Tanner in line.
So after listening to a long list of do's and don'ts, Vin was finally released.
The bruises on his face and body had faded from the deep purples to a multicolor display of lighter violets, greens and yellow tones.
He had a punk-like shaved area on the side of his head where they had carefully put in twenty-seven neat black stitches, and his ribs were tightly wrapped to keep them secure until the bones were fully healed.
He still felt like shit, but figured he'd much rather feel bad at home -- at the ranch -- with Chris, than in a hospital bed.
He gladly climbed into the wheelchair for his mandatory ride to the exit.
"You sure you're ready to come home?" Chris asked as he pushed Vin through the automatic doors by the parking area.
"Yeah, hell, you know I am," Vin answered, his voice betraying his fear that Chris would turn around and take him back inside. "Why would you think anything else?"
"Well, it's just that I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've ever pushed you out of a hospital in one of these things..." referring to the wheelchair, "without you complaining all the way that you could walk just fine."
"Aw, hell -- I figured that I'd make it easy on ya for once."
Chris smiled down at his techni-colored lover and sighed... "You're gettin' soft, Tanner."
Vin grinned back, despite the throbbing in his head. "Only when it comes to you, old man."
"Who you callin' old?" Chris complained as he helped Vin into the truck and buckled him in.
He walked around to the driver's door and realized that he had a big sappy grin on his face.
Guess I'm getting pretty soft when it comes to you, too, Tanner
He got in and turned to his lover.
"Let's go home."
Epilogue
Three weeks.
Three long, celibate weeks.
Vin was cursing under his breath as he brushed Peso. "Since when did Mr. "I make my own rules" Larabee start to listen to doctors..." He brushed down Peso's flank again, ignoring the fact that his coat was already shining like a polished slab of onyx. "Never once saw him follow instructions when "he" was recovering... not once.
He reached up to put a finishing touch on Peso's gracefully curved neck and felt a sharp ache in his ribcage follow the movement. "Aw, hell."
He backed up against the wall of the stall and took a few deep breaths.
"See," Chris said from the doorway, "I told you it was too soon."
Vin startled, looking at his watch. It was only just after four and Chris wasn't due home until after six.
"Fuck," Vin breathed. "You spying on me now, Larabee?"
Chris grinned, he knew that Vin was itching to get back in the saddle -- in more than one way -- and he also knew that it was too soon. "Nah, just thought I'd come home early so we could have a little "quality" time together."
After a week of "coddling", Vin insisted that Chris return to work and it was probably a good idea since it had been very busy. There hadn't been even one night that he'd been home before nine, and most nights it was closer to eleven when he got in.
Just in time to kiss his lover goodnight.
Vin's fracture and concussion left him with pounding headaches that were often accompanied by gut wrenching nausea -- so by early evening he was asleep -- even if he tried to stay awake until Chris returned.
He'd tried napping during the afternoon but even the extra rest hadn't helped.
Today, after rearranging his schedule completely, Chris managed to get out early. Even though he knew Vin wasn't up to anything "strenuous" he wanted -- needed -- to spend more time with him. He knew that the team would be fine for the rest of the day and tomorrow, Friday, under Josiah's capable guidance.
He needed the long weekend as much as Vin did.
He arrived at the ranch to find the house deserted.
He checked to see that Vin's Jeep was still parked in the garage, even though he was pretty sure that Vin wouldn't get behind the wheel until he was cleared. Then he headed down to the barn, arriving just in time to hear Vin's gasp as he reached up to brush Peso's neck.
"Still think you're ready to ride?"
"Try me, Larabee," Vin gritted out between clenched teeth.
A week of coddling, and three weeks of "cuddling" had definitely left Vin cranky.
Not that he minded cuddling.
He liked cuddling.
Right after an hour of sweaty, mind-bending sex.
But three weeks of cuddling -- without the sex -- and Vin was ready to climb the walls -- headache or not.
"Yeah, I'll try you," Chris whispered, "when you can stay awake until eleven o'clock without a nap."
"Ain't fair," Vin grumbled. "Wouldn't be gettin' so many headaches iffin' I could release some of this tension." He turned as he finished, brushing his rock hard erection up against Chris's groin.
"You can hardly stand up straight, Vin," Chris argued, holding him even as he tried to pull his groin back before Vin could feel his reaction.
It had been an equally long three weeks for him.
"Don't need to be standin' up..." Vin sighed, eyelids dropping to half-mast as he snuggled up to Chris's lean body, his hands working their way under the jacket to tug the shirt out of the tight waistband, moving up underneath to caress the warm flesh beneath.
"Persistent little fucker, aren't you?"
"Persistent, yeah, fucker -- not for too damn long," Vin growled.
Chris sighed, Vin knew just what buttons to push. "All right, let's go up to the house and have some dinner, then we'll see how you're feeling." He watched Vin's eyes light up as he agreed, then as he finished, giving himself an out, he watched the blue eyes grow dark with doubt. "Trust me, Vin, if you are really up to it..."
Vin nodded as he put the brush away and gave Peso a final pat. He'd make damn sure that he was "up to it." when the time came.
Dinner was quiet, and Vin seemed to be feeling better. He ate, which indicated that the nausea, at least, was at bay. And he seemed to be alert and, as far as Chris could tell, he didn't have a headache.
Then it hit him -- just how badly Vin wanted to be with him tonight.
"You took your medication." Not a question.
"What makes you think that?" His refusal to take the pain pills had inspired several arguments over the past weeks.
"Well, you're eating, and as far as I can tell you don't have a headache."
"Told ya, I'm fine."
"Because you took the pills.
There was a pause while Vin practiced his version of "the glare".
"Okay, I took the damn pills, it's not like ya haven't been nagging me to take them for the last three weeks."
Chris smiled. "Never knew it could be this easy to get you to take them."
"Not easy, just don't want you backin' down."
He took Vin's hand as he replied. "I don't want to back down -- I just don't want to hurt you." He raised Vin's hand and kissed it wetly. "You're not the only one who's been frustrated, Vin, I've wanted to be with you every night -- and not just to sleep -- but not if you aren't ready."
"I'm ready, Larabee, so you just better finish up with your dinner before I take your ass right here on the kitchen table."
Chris finished his meal, taking his time as he considered his options.
They were, at the moment, extremely limited.
On one hand, Vin was still recovering -- on the other -- he certainly seemed to be feeling better. And, if he backed down now, the atmosphere for their long weekend would be pretty damn icy.
And there were his desires to consider.
His own needs.
And Vin knew just how to push him right up to the edge of sanity.
qq He made a decision, picked up his plate and slid it into the sink, and turned to Vin. "Okay, Vin, but we're gonna do this my way -- nice and slow. If I even suspect that you are overdoing it..."
Before he could finish the sentence he was wrapped up in a limpet-like embrace. "'Bout time old man."
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After a long, passionate kiss, they pulled apart long enough to move to the bedroom.
They might both be desperately horny -- but there was no way Chris was going to do this on the kitchen table -- especially with a pillow-top king-sized bed just down the hall.
As they reached the master suite, Chris steered them into the oversized bath.
"I think a nice hot jacuzzi will relax those sore muscles."
"Ain't sore -- and I don't want'a relax."
Chris sighed.
So much for slow and easy.
Vin tugged on his arm leading him back into the bedroom and moments later, they were toppling onto the bed.
"Need ya bad, Chris," Vin panted out as he pulled at the already untucked shirt.
As much as his mind wanted to go slow, Chris's body had its own ideas -- and they seemed to match Vin's.
He shrugged out of his jacket and shirt, letting them drop off the edge of the bed, then reached to his waist to find that Vin already had him unbuttoned and his zipper down.
"We got all night," Chris argued, even as his body disagreed.
Vin's hands were inside his pants and shorts, sliding them over his ass and down to his knees to free his fully hard cock.
"Looks like ya missed me, Larabee," Vin mused as he leaned down for a taste.
After the long wait, the warm, wet heat of his lover's mouth sent Chris right over the edge, he moaned deep in his throat as he gave up his seed to Vin's talented mouth.
He came back to himself a few moments later to find Vin watching him with a "cat that ate the canary" grin on his face -- and nothing else on the rest of him.
"How did you manage that?"
"What?"
He nodded at Vin's undressed state. "That -- how'd you get undressed so fast?"
"Weren't particularly fast, Larabee -- you were," he paused and grinned, "um, otherwise occupied."
He glared.
"Okay, ya zoned out for a minute or two -- didn't know you were so hard up -- and speaking of hard up," Vin looked pointedly down at his own erection, "think we can do something about this?"
"Yeah," Chris smiled back, "I think maybe we can take care of that." He reached out only to have Vin grab his wrist.
"Want'a be inside ya, Chris."
"You up to it?"
"Ya see me passin' out?"
Chris met Vin's eyes and saw no pain -- only desire.
"Okay."
The shuffled around and peeled Chris's pants the rest of the way off after he slid out of his boots. Then they were both naked and ready.
By mutual consent, they chose a face-to-face position, and Vin knelt between Chris's long legs and gently prepared him for his entry. Once he was ready, Vin rose up and looked down at his lover. Their eyes locked together and, with Chris's legs draped over his shoulder, he slid into the hot, tight channel.
The moan that rose up was a duet of pain and pleasure.
Then, as Vin began to thrust, there was just utter, intense pleasure that increased with each subsequent movement. Both men sought to get closer and deeper until they could barely tell where one man ended and the other began.
They kept eye contact even as they reached the edge -- their bodies moving together on a level where thought was nearly impossible.
Then with Vin's cock buried deeply in his ass, Chris let go for a second time, pumping his creamy offering over Vin's hand, sending Vin over the edge moments later.
Then he collapsed down onto Chris and, as their breathing gradually slowed, they drifted into a gentle slumber.
The sun was still setting when they woke, sated and content.
It was early but they simply stayed there, holding each other -- cuddling -- until they fell into a deep, contented sleep.
fini